Annette

My mother told me two weeks ago that my making the decision to come home to spend time with my grandmother was "a selfish thing to do." Then last week she told me how appreciative she and my father were for me being here to relieve them of the burden of my grandmother and the Alzheimer's that is tearing through her.

Introspection is a curious thing. It is purely selfish. My thoughts after mother dear told me how selfish I was were along the lines of "this is the most selfless thing I have ever done in my life."

Reading my blog posts made me think that I am being selfish....this blog seems to be all about me....and  it really isn't. So here goes.

My grandmother's name is Annette Ingber Streichler, born in Manhattan on March 14, 1926. She is the third child and second daughter of Jacob Ingber and Rivka (Rose) Ingber (nee Wilner), now deceased for many years....I am named for Jacob and my Hebrew name is Rivka. Anne had one brother, Samuel, 17 years her senior, and one sister, Bertha, 14 years her senior. Yes, Anne is a change of life baby. Jacob came to the United States from Hungary, and was a successful tailor, which made the years of the Great Depression a bit easier for this part of my family. One of the tailors who worked for him was a man by the name of Aaron Streichler, my other great-grandfather, father of my now deceased grandfather, Isidore.

At the age of 8, my great aunt Bertha tried to kill Anne by strangulation. Aunt Bertha spent the rest of her life in mental wards. However, Anne thrived at school excelling at typing and stenography. At the onset of World War II, she became engaged to my grandfather, Isidore, who enlisted in the United States Navy. They were married on December 10, 1944 and then moved to Key West, Florida, where he was stationed. She worked as a civil servant on base while Izzy worked on a minesweeper in the Pacific Theatre.

After the war ended, they moved in with Anne's parents while Izzy went to Pratt to get a degree in draftsmanship and engineering. Anne obtained a job as a secretary. They then moved to Queens, where my mother Susan was born. To be continued....with pictures.

So Now What?

People in most cultures ask how you are upon first meeting. I do not believe they do this because they are interested. I believe they do this because it is a culturally accepted custom, and by the time you reach the age of 30, it is ingrained in you to do so, and if you do not ask, you are considered to be rude. 

There are certain people, true friends and family members, who genuinely care when they ask this question. Unless otherwise occupied by some silly drama, my response is the generic "I'm ok, how are you doing?". In the past few months, I have used the term "ok" more times than I can count. I began to wonder about the origins of the generic ok answer. Some reference it as a North American Indian word. Others, of European origin. The truth is, no one really knows. But we have the word ok. 

"How's grandma doing?" "She's ok, the same, really." "How are your parents?"  "They're ok". 

Acknowledging that I am a magnet for troubled souls, including but not limited to bums, alcoholics, drug addicts and complete psychopaths - it's ok. Sitting next to an old ex-friend to celebrate the birthday of a good friend - it's ok. Wanting to leave every place you've ever been - it's ok. Being told you suck at everything - it's ok. 

Determined to be done with ok. Because, really, none of it is ok. It is the exact opposite of ok. There is no word for it, it is just not ok. Maybe I am too contemplative. Maybe I am a pushover. Maybe I never completely grew up. I just know that I am tired of the hand I am dealt on a regular basis. 

So now what? The apartment is generally cleaned and fully functional, so if we needed or wanted to bring grandma home it would be possible. I have been becoming bored in the past week or so, looking for ways to occupy my time. I would love a change of scenery for a moment, but I feel like leaving, even for a few days, would be a mistake right now. 

My grandmother's deteriorating state of mind scares me, as she thinks that relatives who are long deceased are living, and living at the nursing home. She doesn't eat, and it has become harder for me to visit because now she does not want me to leave. 

I don't know what this blog post is supposed to be about, but I've said everything I needed to.